


Indoor Rain

by Nehanshika_524



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaking, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 09:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehanshika_524/pseuds/Nehanshika_524
Summary: It started with just one arrow; a lucky shot that happened to hit the sniper’s belly. She clutched the wound for a moment, eyes wide.I missed my shot? But… I never miss.Then, she fell.





	Indoor Rain

**Author's Note:**

> i guess they never miss huh

As alarmed as Angela was to see a wanted assassin rushed into her hospital for immediate surgery, she wasn’t an unethical doctor. It took her a moment to get over the shock before her trainee- Brigitte- called her attention. “Doctor Ziegler?” She pulled at the doctor’s arm.

Angela shook her head. “My- my apologies. With me, Brigitte, we’ll need you in there.”

They followed the paramedics to the OR, Angela giving swift instructions to the team assembled. The surgery itself would be long, and tedious; the arrowhead itself had partially shattered, leaving fragments inside the patient’s stomach.

 

It had been hours, but Widowmaker- Angela had to keep reminding herself that it was the patient, just a patient, not Widowmaker- hadn’t stopped bleeding. Her stitches kept opening. Even after extended use of her Caduceus staff, the flow of blood was continuing, although at an incredibly slow rate. _Probably because of those horrible “adjustments” Talon did,_ Angela thought bitterly.

She bit her lip. “We have to increase her heart rate.” She said. “The symptoms mimic iron-deficient anaemia. Normally, bradycardia happens in this case to people over 60, but with what Talon did, who knows how her biology’s changed…” She was rushing around the room as she said this, fiddling with the machines to increase her anaesthesia level. “…Which means we’ll have to keep her under for longer. I don’t like the risk this poses, but—“

 “Ang- Doctor Ziegler, that could create all kinds of problems! We don’t know how Talon’s experiments affected her- this could worsen her condition, or—“

“Brigitte, I’m sorry, but I am the head of surgery here. We need to increase her heart rate immediately.”

Brigitte paused, and nodded.

* * *

 

When the assassin awoke, the first thing she recognised was pain. Almost unbearable pain, so acute she came close to screaming.

Then she recognised mild surprise at herself. _Pain doesn’t bother me,_ she thought. _Why am I in pain?_

The third thing she recognised was that she was in a soft, strange bed, and rhythmic _beeps_ were sounding beside her. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Seeing this, the nurse rushed to her side, curly red hair almost tumbling out of its long plait. “Oh, thank goodness. Miss, I’m Emily. I’ll be looking after you while you’re here. Can you hear me? What’s your name?”

Widowmaker- or Amélie - blinked. The question surprised her.

 

“Can you hear me?” The nurse repeated calmly.

“Yes,” she replied curtly. “I can.”

“Can you tell me your name, place of birth, and where you are?

“It was Amélie Lacroix. France. I am in a hospital bed and I want to leave.” _This nurse is insufferable._

“…Was?” The nurse faltered slightly, and gulped. She’d known some patients to be unusual, but this woman… There was something eerie about her. Something other than the golden, cold eyes, the sickly, almost purple skin. She shivered, and tried to reassume her smile. “Not to worry. I’ll get Doctor Ziegler- or maybe Ms Lindholm- in immediately.”

As the nurse fumbled with her pager, the patient watching her like a hawk, it struck her what was so unusual. She’d read the woman’s file; due to an unnaturally slow heartbeat- bradycardia, she was pretty sure it was called- she was not to be put on morphine or narcotics of any kind. _And,_ she thought, _correct me if I’m wrong, but people who’ve just gotten out of 5-hour surgery tend to be in intense pain, not talking like nothing’s wrong…_

Yet she showed no sign of said pain. She just sat perfectly still, eyes sharp, like she was calculating every move the nurse made. Either she had that one nerve disease the nurse could never remember the name of, or she really _was_ as “unnatural” as her file claimed.

She could feel the woman’s eyes on her, and left the room gladly when Doctor Ziegler showed up.

 

Angela regarded Amélie coolly, trying to appear calmer than she was. Amélie could sense her anxiousness, though; her shoulders were a little too tense, eyes a little too focused.

“So,” she said with forced calm. “I take it you are not in pain?”

“I am.” Amélie replied simply.

“You understand that we can’t afford to put you on any medication, after what Talon did to your heart. Not until the treatment for it is completed, and not until after your body has recovered.”

“I wish to be discharged.”

At that, Angela did a double-take. _Finally,_ Amélie thought. _The façade is broken._ But she fixed Amélie with a stern look. “You know I cannot allow that. You need at least a month to recover from the surgery- longer, if your heart problem persists.”

“I do not have a—“ She paused. “What do you mean by treatment?” There was a sudden edge to her voice.

The doctor stood calmly, maintaining eye contact. Most other doctors would have averted their eyes, intimidated, or maybe ashamed. But then, most other doctors hadn’t seen the same things Angela had. It took a lot to intimidate her.

Amélie was almost impressed.

“You had anaemia and bradycardia. We had to increase your heart rate to prevent you from bleeding slowly to death.” She said softly. Amélie’s eyes widened, and she slowly looked down at her own skin, realising, putting the pieces together.

“It was a necessary procedure. You would have died otherwise, Amélie.”

Her skin was no longer hypothermic and purple; it had faded back to an almost-natural colour, tinged blue. She had _felt_ things. She had felt pain. She had felt annoyance, impatience at the nurse. She had felt an anger at Angela mentioning treatment- and felt rage at realising what she did.

“What did you do to me…?” Her voice wavered. Tears filled her eyes, hot and painful. “What did you _do_?!”

At this, Angela did look away. “What I had to.”

“You _ruined_ me!” She screamed, trying to rip out her IV. She could physically feel her heartbeat, painful and loud. Her head swam. She had been fearless, patient, _efficient_. She hadn’t been hindered by emotion or guilt, and certainly not pain.

Amélie recognised a new emotion; fear. She was afraid and angry all at once, but she lacked the strength even to free herself of these horrible machines.

At once, Angela was at her side, removing her shaking fingers from the tubes and lying her back down. Amélie’s lip quivered. She wanted to hit the doctor, wanted to strangle her, wanted to pull free and escape, but…

Angela sighed, gently putting a hand to Amélie’s forehead. She went to a draw beside the bed, picked out a syringe, filled it with a fluid and flicked it to rid it of air bubbles.

“What are you doing?” Amélie asked shakily as Angela injected the fluid into her IV drip.

“Again, what I have to. I am… Sorry, Amélie. You’re in no state to be awake, and… This will put you to sleep for a while. It’s still a risk with your heart, but I’ll keep a close eye on you.” She smiled softly. “I promise.”

Amélie stopped listening. Fear rose in her heart once more, for this reminded her of something… No, not fear; panic. Her breath quickened and her hands shook violently. This was just like Talon. This was what they did to her. This was how they made her kill— this was how they forced her to—

Her arms grew heavy, and her eyelids heavier. And the heavier they got, the more tired she felt, and the more her heart raced in panic. She could swear there was no hospital, just Talon’s base. Just the tall, dark walls of polished metal, the cool operating table beneath her, the beeping machines surrounding her, their scientists looming over her body.

She wanted to scream, but the heaviness overtook her. She couldn’t move, or speak, or even blink- all she could do was watch in terror as the world dimmed away.

* * *

 

When Amélie woke again, it took her a moment to remember what happened. Slowly, she sat up, and it came back to her in bits and pieces.

Her skin was darker, now, almost back to a natural shade. She was in a white, shapeless gown. Tubes protruded from her arm. A constant beeping sounded in her ear.

 _I am in a hospital,_ she thought carefully _. I was shot. I was in surgery. I was… treated. I felt things again._

She remembered feeling an intense fear, a horrid panic, a terrifying flashback. _That was… When Angela put me under… I think_. She looked to her left; the doctor was asleep, her blonde hair greasy and messy, her face pale. She hadn’t slept well in days. She would be vulnerable if attacked- her reflexes would be slow, and her body strength diminished. An easy target, almost like—

Like someone ill.

Amélie collapsed back onto the pillows, realising. She was so weak, so _fragile_ … If someone were to come in to her room, right now, with intent to kill her, nothing would stand in their way. She was powerless.

The thought scared her. Angry tears spilled from her eyes- she hated emotion. She hated having to feel again. And of them all, fear was the one she loathed most. But there was nothing she could do- Amélie was a pitiable creature, at everybody’s mercy. It made her sick.

She sniffled, stifling a sob. God, how pathetic she sounded in her own ears!

The doctor stirred at the sound, and sat up, her eyes slightly unfocused. When she saw that Amélie was awake, she tensed- but her face remained kind. She stood up, the late afternoon sun framing her as she did so.

Amélie wished that Angela hadn’t seen her crying.

“Amélie,” she said softly. “I’m glad you’re awake. How do you feel?”

 _Horrible. And it’s all your fault._ “Like a prisoner.” She said venomously.

Angela smiled tiredly- but good-naturedly. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll be discharged soon enough. Here,” she said, taking a box of tissues from a nearby shelf and offering it to Amélie. “Take as many as you need. I’ll get you some water.”

Numbly, Amélie accepted the tissues. “Wait,” she called as Angela turned to leave. “When you put me under—” She intended to rip into her, angrily, make her feel horrible for what she did, make her suffer… but Angela just nodded patiently. “I know. I saw what happened- if I’d known how you’d react, I’d never have put you through that. I’m… I’m so sorry, Amélie.”

And she left.

Amélie had no words. She wanted to hate Angela- or, better yet, have no feelings towards her at all, have no qualms about hurting her- but she couldn’t. Her heart didn’t obey her anymore. And she was grateful for the doctor, felt indebted to her, thankful to be treated so delicately and with so much care.

She hated feeling like that. She didn’t want to feel anything at all- she just wanted to be Widowmaker again, a ruthless assassin who held no mercy. Instead, she was Amélie Lacroix, being taken care of by a doctor brimming with it.

She turned to her side, facing the wall. Though the action pained her deeply, she bit back her yelp.

Angela returned eventually. Amélie felt her presence, rather than heard; she slowed her own breathing, pretending to sleep. She heard Angela sigh, setting the glass of water on the table.

Amélie didn’t know how long the doctor was in the room for, or if she’d left at all- but decided she didn’t care. She didn’t! Not at all. She just wanted to go to sleep. If she couldn’t be Widowmaker, and if she couldn’t manage to kill herself in this damned hospital, she would just sleep.

She ignored the tears falling from her eyes, and prayed that Angela wouldn’t see them, as she slipped into an uneasy, dreamless slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> questions? comments? requests? hmu on my writing blog: dhillarearenn
> 
> so, apparently Brigitte is a medic? and i figured she'd need training for that, so, i have a headcanon that she was working under Dr. Ziegler in order to get her degree.  
> im not practised in medicine at all, and i'm sure there are many glaring mistakes, so if there are any of an embarrassing degree, please let me know! i tried to research quite a few medical sites before writing this, but that's not a substitute for actual knowledge.  
> oh! one last note. doctor/patient relations aren't really uhhh terrific? i know. so, the romance will only really pick up once good ol' Amélie is discharged from the hospital and is no longer a patient.  
> i also wrote this a while back and never posted it until now, so it is in my older, more dramatic writing style. i'm not sure if i'll continue writing it in said style or if i'll change it yet; basically, i'm awaiting your feedback!!  
> hope you enjoyed <3


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